The Trouble With Tattletales
by LittleEnglishLass
Summary: At the sound of his name being called, the Hobbit in question looked up from his book just in time to see a familiar face framed with thick dark curls pop around the door and stomp into the room with a worrying amount of purpose.


**This oneshot was written for a Facebook group, where the challenge word was 'nibble'. Now with a word like that, Hobbits are of course the obvious choice. ;)**

**I also mean it as a small introduction to some of the characters I'm planning on using for a new fanfic which is currently being written. Other than that…there's almost no point to the plot. :D Forgive me, I hope it's entertaining pointlessness at least.**

**Enjoy! :)**

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**The Trouble with Tattletales**

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"Bartin!"

At the sound of his name being called, the Hobbit in question looked up from his book just in time to see a familiar face framed with thick dark curls pop around the door and stomp into the room with a rather worrying amount of purpose.

Panicking slightly, Bartin mentally ran though all his actions for the previous week, wondering what possible reason an irate Dora could have for seeking him out at such an unsociably early hour of the day.

"Whatever is the matter?" Bartin decided this was probably the safest course of action.

"Iris Merrybrook, that's what!" Dora fumed, "She's been waggling her horrid little tongue around again. The woman has it in her head that you've been…cavorting with her sister. Not the pretty blonde one either, the younger one that looks like an Orc squeezed into a lurid pink wardrobe."

Bartin was forced to swallow his rising ire when she stopped suddenly and gave him a glower more befitting a battle-hardened Dwarf than a plump Hobbit.

"_Were _you mucking about with her sister?"

Bartin was insulted.

"Excuse me!?" He spluttered, "The very notion that I, a Brandywood, would stoop so low! The indignity of it!"

"I thought as much."

Dora flopped onto the large, floral patterned armchair opposite her friend with all the grace of a landed fish, curls bouncing wildly. She grabbed a muffin from the plate on the table beside her and nibbled at it like a mouse, frowning in thought.

"Still, I find myself at a loss to understand quite _how _Iris got the idea into her head."

"That I know not." Bartin sighed and shook his head. "If it's anything like that time she accused Tulip Took of stealing her hairpin, then it could have been anything. Mayhap she caught a glimpse of me in the general vicinity of her sister and thought it a logical conclusion."

Dora scowled at the fire that crackled cheerily in the grate, and Bartin half-fancied the dancing flames would wilt like summer blooms thrust into a sudden winter chill. He sighed again, pushing a few strands of slightly too-long russet locks back from his eyes as he pondered the whole bothersome situation.

"This is the last straw. First thing tomorrow I shall march over to Tilda Merrybrook and inform her of her eldest daughter's babbling brook of a mouth!" Dora announced after a short while. "She can seek a small comfort in the knowledge that Iris is living up to at least half of her name."

"If only the tales the brook told were indeed merry."

Dora snorted, scowl lessening somewhat and becoming more a thoughtful frown that curved into a very un-Hobbitish vindictive smirk.

"Uh oh…" Bartin waggled his finger at her in warning, "Don't you dare! Stop it right this instant. I know that look, and it never ends well for anyone."

"What look?"

"_That _look."

"Very informative of you Bartin, I understand perfectly now. How incredibly irritating it would have been if you had neglected to explain yourself properly."

Bartin rolled his eyes and threw a cushion at her. "I'm talking about the look you always get when you're thinking of pulling some ill-fated jest on someone. You get this horrid gleam in your eye at the thought of another's pain or embarrassment. It's a rather worrying trait for a Hobbit."

Dora laughed. "Pah! You are hardly one to talk Brandywood! Mayhap you have forgotten the time when you replaced your brother's sugar with salt as revenge for him tattling to your mother about your involvement with a certain pretty milkmaid. You practically _glowed _when he started sputtering on his tea. You ruined his favourite waistcoat and were pleased about it for weeks."

"Fair enough, you have a point, though I defend myself with the knowledge that I was a young Hobbit and not the adult I am now." Bartin said, "However, something as harmless as a youthful practical joke is nothing compared to the sheer evil you like to unleash upon your unfortunate victims."

"Come now Bartin, 'evil' is stretching it just a bit." Dora smirked, her dark brown eyes gleaming with mirth. "You're getting rather boring in your old age. Help me block off the brook of Iris's mouth! If only to stop her spreading more silly rumours about your fine and oh-so adult personage. It'll be fun!"

"No, no and no again. I will have no more part in your devious exploits. My reputation as a respectable Hobbit has been marred quite enough, thank you." Bartin sat back in his chair and lowered his eyes to his book once more. "Go recruit Pansy if you need an accomplice. The lass would leap straight off a mountainside if you informed her you thought it a wise pastime."

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**Idk what this even is, sorry about that. I tried at least.**


End file.
